


Constance

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [6]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3392126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Constance has been Aramis' employer/friend for a few years now. Lately he has been testing her patience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



Constance is done. Constance is so done.

But does Aramis notice? No of course not. He keeps blabbering on and on and on about his perfect boyfriend, and his boyfriend’s perfect boyfriend – Aramis calls him a flatmate, but at this point Constance isn’t so sure. Constance can’t even be sure anymore which one’s the boyfriend and which one’s the boyfriend’s boyfriend.

She can’t even be sure Aramis knows, at this point. He looks starstruck as he talks about the Thoses (as Constance has very aptly named them in her mind).

Does he get any work done? Not really.

Does Constance mind? A bit.

But she’ll never, _ever_ tell him.

Why? Because Aramis is adorable.

He’s _in love_. (With both of the Thoses possibly … probably … quite certainly even.) Constance can hardly blame him. From what she’s heard – and she’s heard A LOT. All the details. ALL OF THEM. Anyway, from what she’s heard the Thoses are _perfect_. Perfect for Aramis at least. He’s smiling all the time now. Humming even. _In tune_. He’s his own little ray of sunshine.

Constance remembers how he was when he applied for the job in her little shop. Shy, awkward, with an aura that suggested that he was trying very hard to prepare himself for a verbal lashing. So she tried to be assuring instead of blightingly sarcastic while he showed her his abilities, tried to be as kind and _nurturing_ as she possibly could.

He was brilliant. She hired him right away. Ever since that day she got to watch from a distance how he fumbled and stammered his way through any and all social interactions. How he went on dates and showed up the next morning with an expression in his eyes that made her heart ache for him. She never quite understood how that was possible. How so many people managed to hurt Aramis by being selfish jerks. How they managed to look at him and not care about him any further than his good looks.

She’s never met someone so easy to fall in love with. But maybe that’s the problem. She’s not sure. She didn’t fall in love with him. She loves him, that much is certain enough – cannot contain her own smile as she watches him put together the design for a dress she gave him this morning, once more humming to himself. She loves him, and she’s happy that he found his Athos. … Porthos? … His Thoses.

They are good for him, even if they fry his brain on a regular basis. She just doesn’t want to know what body wash they use.

Thank goodness their work day is almost over – Aramis will go home in half an hour, get more cuddles than he knows what to do with, healthy food, and maybe even coffee if Porthos feels generous. … Athos? Damn, she can’t ask Aramis again, he’s getting more scandalized every time she fails to keep the bloody name-twins apart.

The shop door opens, setting the little bell above it in motion, and Constance looks over to see a knitwear pirate coming in. He’s tall, dark and handsome in a really accessible way. He has dimples when he smiles. Which he does. At her. Constance doesn’t feel so much flustered as deeply appreciative of this handsome knitwear pirate.

Then she hears a delighted intake of air from Aramis’ corner, hears a barely subdued squeak, and then Aramis comes all but flying across the room, propels himself into the stranger’s arms and hugs him with gusto. This must be Porthos then. Or Athos. Frankly, Constance doesn’t give a damn at this point. They look adorable together, that’s the important thing.

She watches them with a kind of maternal approval, can’t help but grin a little. Aramis is burrowing into the man like a needy cat, has pushed his face into his neck, and she’d swear that she can hear him purr.

The knitwear pirate looks down at him with the fondest look, strokes his hands over Aramis’ back – and looks up, catches her staring. “You must be Constance?”

He has a very pleasant voice. Aramis is a very lucky man. Aramis, who jerks his head up, and blushes furiously – if his ears are any indication. “S-sorry.”

“For what?” Constance and the pirate ask simultaneously – grin at each other in instant kinship.

“I – I should have introduced you,” Aramis stammers, gives in automatically when the pirate shoves him very gently in Constance’s direction so he can shake her hand.

“You can still do that,” the pirate murmurs to Aramis with a little grin. “Besides, I found your welcome very gratifyin’.”

Aramis awards that with the most bashful little smile Constance has ever seen, and clears his throat. “Constance, this is Porthos – Porthos, Constance.”

The best thing about this meeting, Constance decides, is that she has finally a face to the name. No more confusion. … Although it is possible that Porthos is just the boyfriend’s boyfriend. They haven’t _kissed_ after all, and according to Aramis he gets hugged by everyone all the time now.

This might actually be a _friendly_ greeting. God.

She flushes a bit and bites her lip – and catches a glance at Aramis’ radiant face. He’s _glowing_ while he looks up at Porthos. Boyfriend or not, this is definitely love. Constance doesn’t blame Aramis.

Even less than before now that she’s had a look at Porthos.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days have passed since Constance has met Porthos. She’s in the shop again, as is Aramis – diligently working away in his little corner, quiet for once. Constance inquired after Porthos’ well-being this morning when Aramis showed up for work, and he assured her with a beaming smile that Porthos was _brilliant_.

Constance is glad. She is still highly appreciative of Porthos’ general everything. She still doesn’t know if he’s Aramis’ boyfriend.

They had taken off shortly after Aramis had introduced Porthos to Constance, and while the way Porthos had put his arm around Aramis’ shoulders had looked very comfortable – not to say snuggly – it wasn’t a clear indicator of their relationship status. Not that it’s of any importance. Constance is merely curious.

She’s allowed to be. And alright, yes, it’s her own fault she doesn’t know. Aramis has told her often enough. She just has trouble remembering things and names and general information about people she’s never seen is all.

Now she _has_ seen Porthos, and now she wants to know. Wants to know if he’s Aramis _friend_ and looking at him like that. With those eyes. And the dimples. And everything.

Constance sighs. In his corner Aramis makes a sudden noise of deepest distress. She looks over, immediately worried. “Did you hurt yourself?”

He looks back at her, stricken, “I forgot my lunchbox!”

He sounds _distraught_. Constance fights very hard not to laugh.

Aramis appears do be aware of that. “You don’t _understand_ ,” he wails. “Porthos made _muffins_! Athos made _coffee_ and put it in a thermos he’s _bought for me_! And I forgot it! At home!”

His tragic little face is too much for Constance. She breaks out into a peal of laughter. Which is of course the precise moment a customer decides to enter her shop.

Constance’s laughter dies a quick and alarmed death. The customer looks like –

Well. Not really like an axe-murderer. His eyes are rather too kind.

“I beg your pardon,” he says in an incredibly posh voice that doesn’t match his outward appearance at all. He looks as though he has stolen his clothes from someone taller and broader than him, and the _beard_ –

“Athos!” Aramis exclaims and comes out of his little corner in the manner of an enamoured puppy.

Puppy. Oh God. That reminds her of –

Better not think about him. Better concentrate on the little scene enfolding in front of her. Yes. Good plan.

Athos turns to Aramis, and a smile blooms on his face. At least Constance thinks so. She can’t be sure with all that _beard_.

“What are you doing here?” Aramis asks, approaching Athos rather more sedately than he did Porthos. Still he gets a hug, and the way Athos’ hand lingers on his back could mean … anything.

Constance is a bit frustrated at this point.

“You forgot your lunchbox,” Athos says, his voice much softer now that he’s addressing Aramis instead of a stranger. He holds up a little black bag, presumably containing the precious cargo. “I found it on the counter.”

“Thank you,” Aramis says fervently, taking the bag off his hands and taking it over to his little corner.

Athos smirks. (This time Constance is sure, despite the beard.) “I could not let you starve, now could I?”

His reward is a radiant smile, and Constance is tempted to roll her eyes. Athos smiles back at Aramis. With his eyes. Only with his eyes. They are _very_ expressive those eyes. Constance appreciates them just as much as Porthos’ dimples.

Aramis is visibly smitten. “Can you stay for a moment? Do you want me to show you the shop?”

Athos sobers a bit, looks around – looks at Constance. “You make all this yourself?”

“Yes,” she replies. “With Aramis’ help.”

He looks around once more. “Impressive.”

She smiles. “Thank you.”

Athos stays for half an hour. He allows Aramis to drag him around the shop by his sleeve (Constance is half-certain the cardigan belongs to Porthos) and shows him every nook and cranny. He tells Athos about the latest designs, and shows him some pieces that Constance suspects he would put on Athos given half a chance.

Athos doesn’t look as though he’s going to give Aramis that chance. At least not today. While he is clearly not in the mood to play dress-doll (Constance has a vague idea he’s not very interested in buying clothes for himself in general) Athos is very attentive. He displays interest in everything Aramis shows him, asks questions about fabrics and supply, and expresses his opinion that business _should_ be good, given the quality of their products.

Constance likes him, although he’s not as warm as Porthos, at least not towards the general population. Aramis basks in a ray of sunshine that envelops him and only him.

Constance can appreciate that. She herself is rather selective with her affections. She _still_ doesn’t know which one’s the boyfriend. Both Athos and Porthos are disgustingly sweet with Aramis, even if Athos is not quite so obvious about it. But then he brought Aramis his lunchbox. That in itself is obvious enough.

He says goodbye to Constance before he leaves, shakes her hand and smiles at her with his eyes, if only a little. Aramis gets a hug, a proper one, with both arms and just the right amount of _squeeze_.

Not that Constance is staring. She just wants to _know_ , damnit!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [You Went Where? With Who? Mhm. Oh Really?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4698044) by [musicmillennia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/musicmillennia)




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